


To Touch at the Core of Being

by echoes_of_another_life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/pseuds/echoes_of_another_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love, fear and the ever approaching threat of separation and loss expressed by a trenchant touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Touch at the Core of Being

To Touch at the Core of Being  


Dean’s been awake for hours. The stench of blood, demon guts and bile long gone from his skin, washed away with heat and soap. Even if it does still linger. The sound of Sam’s fear, voice harsh and guttural as he shouted Dean’s name above the sound of angry screeching, the death throes of something that got too close, claws that ripped too deep.

The feel of Sam’s hands, hesitant at first, almost fearful, then strong and sure as they tore away Dean’s shirt, used it to pack the wound, staunch the flow as the screeching gave way to silence. 

Harsh breaths and stolen glances on the drive back to the motel, Sam at the wheel as Dean clutched tight to his bloodied, flannel shirt. Pressed it close against torn skin, almost welcoming the pain as they sped across cracked asphalt, manoeuvring one sharp curve after another. The pain a welcome relief from the disturbed quiet broken only by the stuttered breath of withheld anxiety.

The smell of blood stronger in the close confines of the Impala, familiar, recalling emotions of fear, moments past. An eighteen wheeler, metal crunching beneath the impact. 

Horror and the knowledge of how easily one could be torn away from the other imbedded deeply in memory and time. 

The sharp biting odour of iodine, burn of alcohol and the sharp hiss of indrawn breath as the needle penetrated separated flesh, as far away from the cut as the wound was deep. Knitting together skin and holding it firm. Sam’s hands gentle against Dean’s ribs, searching out muscle and bone for breaks or tears. Head bowed, Sam’s hair falling down to shield his eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his fingers searched lower. Lingered longer than necessary for the wound, but necessary just to reassure.

Love, fear and the ever approaching threat of separation and loss expressed by a trenchant touch.

Dean’s been awake for hours, the pain receding to a dull ache as he watched the minutes tick by slowly, flashing numbers that reveal the passage of time. Seventeen hours since Sam dragged, half-carried him in to their hotel room. Seventeen and a half hours since the drive back to the motel, crunch of gravel beneath the tyres of the Impala as they turned eating up mile, after mile. Nineteen hours since the salt and burn, heat and the smell of gasoline mixed with sweat assaulting his nostrils. 

Twenty hours, twenty-seven minutes since Sam’s voice broke above the sound of the screeching. 

One word as Dean folded like he’d been sliced through with a dagger. Disorientated, the force of the blow causing him to double over, vision askew, Sam’s voice penetrating the fog. Crack of twigs beneath heavy footfall, long limbs eating up the distance. Sam’s arms reaching out to break Dean’s fall--just one word.

_Dean._

Voice quieter now, hitch to Sam’s breath as Dean felt the cold chill caress his skin, mattress dipping, the sheets lifted to be replaced by warmth, Sam’s body heat soaking into Dean’s sore muscles. 

_I’m here, Dean_

Sam’s hand skirting hot, hard flesh. Sliding lower. Fingers gliding through wiry hair.

_Sam?_

Dean pushed back as Sam’s hand closed over Dean’s hip, held himself perfectly still as long fingers spanned his waist, heat soaking into Dean’s skin. Dean’s heart racing as Sam’s palm skimmed lightly over Dean’s nipple, fingers circled the hardened nub and then slowly slid upward to curve around Dean’s neck. 

_I’m here, Dean._

Calloused fingers tilted Dean’s head back as Dean felt his bottom lip sucked between wet, velvet heat. Sam’s breath hot against Dean’s face while Sam’s tongue filled Dean’s mouth. Sam’s fingers cradled Dean’s jaw, soft, gentle almost as if Dean were something breakable. Sandpaper rasp of unshaven stubble as Sam shifted closer. 

_I’m here_

Desperation in his voice, need warring with want.

Need coming away the victor.

_I’m here_

Sam needed this but Dean needed it too. Dean’s needed it for so long that there’s no hesitation. He swallowed, pushed back as Sam’s free hand circled Dean’s cock, fingers tightened around the base of the shaft as Sam pressed forward leaving a trail of hot, moist kisses across the back of Dean’s neck.

_Feels so good, Dean._

Tongue on flesh as Sam’s fingers flexed, released their hold only to grip harder as Sam fisted Dean’s cock. 

Up. Down. Long, sure strokes. 

Sharp teeth nipping at Dean’s shoulder as Dean groaned. 

Hiss of breath as Sam pressed his thumb against the head of Dean’s cock, circled the tip, and slid it back and forth through the wetness as Dean groaned, lifted into the friction. 

_Sam…_

Twist of the wrist on the next upward stroke, the sting as Sam bit down hard against Dean’s shoulder. Whispered words lost in the warmth of breath ghosted against sweat-dampened skin. 

Grip easing with every downward stroke. Tightening again. Another twist of the wrist as Dean pushed upward into every stroke, balls tightening as Sam fisted him faster, harder, squeezed the base of Dean’s cock. 

_So good, Dean._

Sam’s fingers curled around Dean’s neck pulled him closer. Sam’s cock pressed up against the small of Dean’s back, riding the cleft of Dean’s ass cheeks as Dean moaned louder. 

So close, one more stroke. 

_Sammy, please…_

And another…

"Let it go, Dean. It’s okay, I've got you."


End file.
